Endings
by blissful catatonia
Summary: Altair offers words of guidance to his granddaughter


A/N When I played AC2 I thought the Alt/Mar flashback was the conception of Darim, wrong I know but the idea stuck and here is the fic it inspired.

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Despite the mid-day sun flooding his study with bright, warm sunshine the grandmaster saw only the shadows untouched by its glow. His old face, weather worn and wrinkled, was a perfect mask of ambivalence, giving no outward signs of the sadness which almost entirely engulfed his heart. He cast a weary eye over the rows and rows of empty book cases. Once heaving under the weight of countless parchments and books they would now stand bare were it not for the dust and a single volume -a thin, scant offering bound by his own hands-which lay on the shelf just to his right hand side.

Darim had been there a few hours earlier, taking instructions and assuring the old man that his wishes were being carried out exactly as he had ordered. He allowed himself a small smile as he thought of his eldest son. Since Darim's return to Masyaf both he and Tazim had proved a tremendous help with Altair's plans for the order. It was fitting that Malik's son along with his own had played such a key role in these changes.

A forlorn sigh escaped his lips as his memories inevitably led him to a darker place.

How difficult things had been for them in the years following the nightmare which awaited them upon their return from Mongolia. His own guilt and grief had driven Darim away in the end and Altair couldn't blame him in the slightest, even his beloved Maria would have struggled to endure him in those days. But then, he mused, had Maria been there the darkness wouldn't have been so complete and she would never have allowed such self indulgent behavior.

He heard light footsteps climbing the stairs and this time the smile on his lips stayed there. He knew it was Ramadi, even before her dark head appeared at the top of the stairs. He lowered his hood - as he always did when he spoke with his grandchild - and waited for her to reach him. She was a shy girl, almost 12 years old. She had the beautiful dark skin of her mother which served to further flatter the grey eyes she had inherited from Darim (Maria's eyes, he would always think of them as hers).

"Father asked me to tell you that we will be ready to depart within the hour,"

"Thank you; please tell him I will meet him outside the library soon."

She nodded her agreement and was about to go back downstairs when she stopped and turned towards him, "Grandfather"

"Yes, little one?"

"Are you sad we are leaving forever?" She looked at her grandfather with a mixture of curiosity and expectancy and continued "After all, Masyaf has been our home for such a very long time, nearly half my whole life."

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, "Masyaf has been my home for many more years than I care to remember Ramadi, and yes there is sadness but also hope." He could see the child waiting for more and although he felt the sadness she spoke of keenly he didn't want to impress those feelings on her so he continued "All things end child, that is the way of the world but with that end something else comes too ... A new beginning, new opportunities. Are you not eager to see new places?"

She smiled, her small shy smile and Altair wondered, not for the first time, if there was anything of Maria in this girl behind the beautiful grey eyes for which her parents had named her. This was a child of 2 worlds, and sometimes Altair worried what that conflict would do to her. Darim had educated her and tried to instill in her a sense of independence and self worth and his wife had supported this to the best of her ability. Bucking against generations of habit and opinion is never a simple task so inevitably some of the more "traditional" thinking of her mother had filtered into the girl's behavior.

"I am excited, very much so but also a little frightened. Some of the girls in the village told me there are slavers in the kingdom, waiting for travelling families so they can snatch their children away and then there are bandits hiding up in the hills and we all know what happens to anyone they catch" She grew more and more animated as she talked and would doubtless have continued had he not interrupted her with a raised hand.

"Do you believe your father would let any harm come to either you or your Mother?" Even as he asked the question the image of Maria bleeding and dying in his arms crashed into his thoughts, almost causing him to wince.

"No, he never would. My father is very brave."

"Then perhaps you should think more of the new places you will be seeing and leave the darker imaginings to your friends?"

She favoured him with a brilliant smile, the one she showed when she forgot to be self conscious and it lifted the old man's heart to see it.

"I have something for you, until this moment I thought I would always keep it close but I think it will have more value in your hands."

Her face lit up instantly at the thought of a gift, and Altair raised himself out of his chair slowly, the only pace he could manage anymore, and shuffled over to the book shelf and lifted the last remaining book, cradling it to his chest he returned to this seat and gently placed it on his desk.

"Do you know what a journal is?"

"Yes, grandfather it's a record of events in the writers life."

"It is indeed and this one is very special. It was written during a journey your father, grandmother and I took to Mongolia." His old eyes reflected the pain he was struggling to keep out of his voice. "A journal isn't just a record of events it's often a place to write down thoughts and feelings, and this particular journal is of that kind."

"Did you write these things down to remember them?" she asked with a knowing look on her face. She was well aware of occasional slips in his memory, and wondered if he was too.

"I did not write this journal Ramadi, your Grandmother did"

She couldn't hide the astonished look on her face, he almost never mentioned Grandmother and here he was about to give her something which had actually belonged to her. Ramadi loved the tales her father had shared about his mother, but that was all they were... tales. She was no more real to her than any of the other characters from a thousand other stories she had heard.

She took a few cautious steps towards the desk; reaching out her small hand she delicately traced a finger along the rough edges of the binding. It didn't feel all that special. It wasn't the prettiest book she had ever seen and it was rather thin. She kept these thoughts to herself worried that he would be angry with her if she voiced them.

He gave her a slight nod, which she took as a sign to continue. Lifting the book from the desk she carefully opened the cover and began to scan the first page. To her surprise most of it was written in Arabic with only a few English words scattered along the sides of the page. She would have to ask her father what they said later. A few random phrases caught her eye, and when Altair saw her head snap up suddenly with a comically shocked expression on her face he knew she had come across one of Maria's more "colourful" expressions.

"She … she … wrote, she wrote _that_ about you?"

"I know what she wrote; I've read it many times. I also know most of the time your father and I deserved every word she wrote about us." leaning forward he whispered "I think we can assume your Mother would not appreciate you repeating any of these things little one."

Shaking her head emphatically while seeing in her mind's eye just exactly what form that lack of appreciation would take she simply replied "No, she would not."

"What you need to understand is this, she was travelling with two grown men both assassins and both" he paused searching for the right word, "…difficult. She would not suffer our tantrums or our ego's. She began keeping her journal solely as a method with which to voice her displeasure. Whatever she wrote down she would say aloud, knowing full well we were both within earshot listening to every word."

As he spoke she had continued to browse the pages trying hard to imagine who would ever dare say any of the things she was reading to either of the men they had been directed towards and she couldn't help but feel a little awed.

He continued "As I say that is how it began but somewhere along the way it became more about her and less about us. These pages contain the thoughts and memories of a remarkable woman Ramadi. One who would not accept the limitations society placed on her because of her gender. She fought tooth and nail to achieve what she wanted from life. Sometimes she won, sometimes she lost but she learned from every experience and was a richer person because of this."

"You think I should try to be more like her, don't you" even as she said this she lowered her gaze to the floor in an unconscious attempt to hide her own insecurity.

He said her name and when she didn't respond he repeated it waiting patiently for her to once again meet his eyes. He somewhat awkwardly held out his hand for her and seeing her young hand meet his own - now ravaged with arthritis and wrinkles - he was once again almost overwhelmed by a sense of his own end.

"No, I don't think that at all. I'm giving this to you in an effort to help you understand where you came from, not as attempt to influence what you will become. It is merely another thing for you to consider, another point of view shall we say? Perhaps you will find nothing in these pages or you may find inspiration. The woman who wrote this was above all things true to her heart, she almost always followed where it led, and thankfully it led her to me. "

Her hand squeezed his a little tighter, even at her young age she understood he still missed her very much and wanted to offer some comfort, he responded in kind gently pressing his fingers into the small palm of her hand.

Thinking she perhaps understood what he was trying to say to her she offered "Do you mean I should do what I want, when I want. As with the creed, everything is permitted"

With his free hand he rubbed his temple, this was far more difficult than he thought it would be. He knew he couldn't send her back to her parents believing she was free to behave in any way she saw fit, although the idea wasn't without its charm and the ghost of a small, mischievous smile flitted across his face even as he considered the implications. But no, he had set out to impart a message and in attempt to convey the one he intended he spoke again, in a soft, low voice.

"What I am trying to tell you Ramadi is that you should always be true to who you are and not try to live up to the ideals of others no matter who they may be. Never let anyone hold you back from what you want in life. Whether you want to be a scholar, an assassin or a mother, you should know you are free to pursue your goals. If there is something inside you that you are passionate about, go after it. Even if you don't succeed you will always have the knowledge that you tried, the dreams we crush can be our greatest regrets in later years. Do you understand me child?"

And to his genuine surprise she showed him she did.

"You mean I should live not to please others but to do something I believe to be worthwhile?"

Had he been another more expressive man he would have hugged her tight to his chest but he was Altair Ibn La Ahad and hugging had never come naturally to him.

"Yes, you understand perfectly little one." he patted her cheek softly

In spite of her original thoughts and its plain appearance she was now rather pleased with her gift and wondered if Maria Thorpe would approve of her having it. She also felt pride, that he trusted her enough to place into her care something he clearly treasured a great deal. Trying her best to sound worthy and mature she puffed out her chest and said "Thank you Grandfather, I will take great care when reading it" then she added hopefully, "Maybe we can talk about some of the things she wrote on our journey to Alexandria, after all we will be travelling for a long time"

At this he only smiled, he knew his journey was going to be far shorter than hers.

"I'm glad you like it," he patted her hand one last time and added "Now off you go and don't forget to tell your Father to meet me at the library we have important things to discuss."

"I won't forget" and this time when she began walking down the stairs back to her parents her heart felt lighter and happier. She loved spending time with her grandfather he told the best stories and hopefully now he wouldn't be so busy with the order and could spent more time with her. As she was about to go down the last flight of stairs a thought occurred to her and she called up to him "Would you like me to come back and help you downstairs? It wouldn't do for you to fall and hurt yourself when you have to spend so much time on horseback."

He huffed; perhaps there was more of Maria in the child than he gave her credit for. "No more than it would do for my impudent grand-daughter to have to endure it with an aching behind".

Her laughter echoed around the empty chamber, the sound was like music to his ears.

He got up and made his way over to the ornate window to cast an eye over the empty courtyard below. It was deserted, no novices training or serious looking scholars, heads bent, deep in thought, nor would there ever be again. He had sent them all away. It was the only way he saw for the order to survive. To go out into the world, expanding their reach. Masyaf was a relic, a tomb and as much as he loved it he knew for his brotherhood to survive they would have to abandon their spiritual home.

He however had no intention of leaving. He had known for the past few years what he planned to do. Ordering a special door for the grand library, saying it was to protect the accumulated assassin knowledge. It was to be his and the apples tomb. Leaving was unthinkable to him. Almost every person he had ever loved died here, he felt it appropriate that he share the same fate.

This was where the voices of the past whispered to him, those of Sef, Malik and even Al Mualim. The voice of his beloved Maria. Those memories were the best and worst of them all. Sometimes he would remember her so vividly, when they were young and happy, when he had her. Those memories felt so real to him that at times he had come back to reality calling her name, asking where she was, only to be told she was gone. Was it the apple playing games with his mind? Was it simply age? It didn't matter which.

He had done his duty. He had never bent or allowed himself to be corrupted. He would have let the walls of Masyaf crush him before he would have ever allowed even the slightest deviation from what he believed was the true and right path for the order. He was tired and in need of rest. Perhaps even peace. Could there be peace for a man such as him? He merely quirked an eyebrow at the thought. He began walking towards the stairs to go meet with Darim, thinking perhaps he should have let the child come back to help him after all.


End file.
